On Democracy...

This is a new, old topic for me. I am agog and aghast at how I have kept the word at bay for years, similar to some of the other words in existence that I have held at more than an arm's distance. That I HAVE indeed, been pushing back on it, that as opposed to embracing and allowing democracy to integrate into my system, I have instead chosen to actively fight against what I thought would be a "small l", liberal suffocation. The radical bones in my body shook at the thought. And still, I admit, shake.

Meaning that while it's been such an integral part of how I feel about things, (this notion of democracy and what it means for myself as well as the other humans and beasts that populate this world), I have filtered it through a system of cynicism and paralysis that has rendered its fundamental heart helpless in offering the circulatory movement needed to keep it alive within me.

While these words need some distillation and clarity, perhaps, I want to simply begin vocalizing my coming home to a place I feared for quite a long time. And not without reason. As Malcolm X once said, democracy could be described as, "white nationalism"...and while he was referring to it (I believe) in relationship to his specific time and culture, to the way in which democracy was playing out around him (and I don't really feel like much has changed) I don't believe he was talking about its POTENTIAL, or what its heart-before-it-gets-cut-off pumps out.

The heart of democracy is something much more complex, inclusive, sustainable, difficult, tense. Hence the reason why it is so hard to even conceive of, let alone remotely begin to entangle myself in actively.

But it's starting to look like that's what I am indeed, supposed to do.....

More to follow.

Friends will arrive, friends will disappear...

If you want me, honey-baby I'll be near.

Out of the mouths of a thousand birds...

Out of the Mouths of a Thousand Birds

Listen -
Listen more carefully to what is around you
Right now.

In my world
There are the bells from the clanks
Of the morning milk drums,

And a wagon wheel outside my window
Just hit a bump

Which turned into an ecstatic chorus
Of the Beloved's Name.

There is the Prayer Call
Rising up like the sun
Out of the mouths of a thousand birds.

There is an astonishing vastness
Of movement and Life

Emanating sound and light
From my folded hands

And my even quieter simple being and heart.

My dear,
Is it true that your mind
Is sometimes like a battering
Ram

Running all through the city,
Shouting so madly inside and out

About the ten thousand things
That do not matter?

Hafiz, too,
For many years beat his head in youth

And thought himself at a great distance,
Far from an armistice
With God.

But that is why this scarred old pilgrim
Has now become such a sweet rare vintage
Who weeps and sings for you.

O listen -
Listen more carefully
To what is inside of you right now.

In my world
All that remains is the wondrous call to
Dance and prayer

Rising up like a thousand suns
Out of the mouth of a
Single bird.

Hafiz

Bees in Brooklyn, NYC

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden is pretty unbee-lievable.

Okay, I actually can't believe I just wrote that, but....I was there recently and maybe went a little camera crazy over the amazing bees I encountered.

It was also a good time to reflect upon the importance of bees to our food chain systems and the global ecosystem on so many levels.

Click on the link above to listen to an interesting podcast about just how essential bees are.

It's been some time....

And then some more. But here I am again, and to start the ball rolling in this part of my world once more, a quote about leadership that I am reflecting on today from the amazing blog of Eve Poole:

The Archbishop of York has a lovely story about camels. There once was a Bedouin who had three sons and 17 camels. In his will he left half of his 17 camels to his elder son, one-third to his second son and one-ninth to his youngest son. When the father died, the children attempted to divide the camels according to their father’s will, and struggled to divide 17 camels into one-half, one-third and one-ninth. They went to consult a very wise old man, who said: ‘Simple. I will lend you my camel. It will be the 18th, and you can get what your father wanted you to have.’ Eureka! Half of 18 is nine, a third of 18 is six, and a ninth of 18 is two, making a total of 17. The sons divided up the camels, then the wise old man took his camel home. I think that a good way of describing the job of a leader is to use this 18th camel as an analogy, whereby the leader is essentially a catalyst to help complex things work out smoothly.

The ones beautifully, left behind

Just before all of it explodes...

When some of it is, but not all.